you know i got the top floor (with the city view)
by Rae D. Magdon
Summary: Clarke is bored at Lexa's work function. She decides to spice things up. (Modern AU based on the Fine Stud Lexa/Trophy Girlfriend Clarke headcanons on tumblr. PLEASE read the warnings, please please please.)
**_This has magic!cock in it! G!P. Lexa has a dick. Beware._** It also features some consensual kink, a blowjob, daddy kink, all kinds of filthy ass stuff. But Lexa is a secret cinnamon roll at the end. ^^

 **AN:** _I WROTE THIS WITH N1ghtWr1ter._ Check 'em out on AO3. Y'all didn't think we'd miss the Fine Stud Lexa party, did you? Of course not! So here it is: Clexa semi-public sex on a balcony, with Lexa's work function still going on below. And, even better, featuring incredible art by the amazing [a]asariasami! (It's on our tumblrs and the AO3 version).

So enjoy, fellow sinners! Let us know what you thought of our filth in the comments or on tumblr [a]ohhedamyheda, [a]raedmagdon, and [a]asariasami!

* * *

 **. . .**

 **you know i got the top floor**

(with the city view)

 ** _. . ._**

Clarke is bored.

She gets why Lexa needs to come to these things—she needs to schmooze, kiss up to the people on the next rung of the ladder (not that there are many of those left these days), finish sewing up the little arrangements that lead to the big contracts. She gets why Lexa wants her to come, too. She can see the women hanging on other arms, all of them various versions of _blonde_ and _low-cut dress_. Call them what they are: trophies. And she knows that's what everyone sees when they look at her, hand curled around Lexa's arm, making an increasingly flaccid effort at small talk and trying not to sound too fake when she laughs.

But the more she thinks about it, the more she warms to the idea. She knows Lexa would never actually think of her this way—she's far too warm, genuine, and kind beneath her carefully cultivated veneer of cocky asshole—but something about the semblance of objectification is hitting Clarke exactly the right way tonight.

Part of it is because she's done a quick but detailed scan of the ballroom and deduced that she's the hottest girl here. Another part of it is that she's definitely felt eyes on her all evening, lingering on her ass, plumbing the depths of her cleavage, traveling up the ridiculous slit in her dress. And speaking of said dress, that's the third part. Holding back a wicked smirk, Clarke shifts her weight to her other hip so that a tantalizing slice of creamy thigh is suddenly bathed in extremely flattering light. And then she counts.

 _Five…four…three…two…one…_

"And so that's why I think we should try to delay the merger with—with... um…"

Now Clarke lets out the smirk, flicking her eyes up to the face of the woman beside her. Lexa Woods—Junior Executive Vice President of marketing, youngest (and hottest) member of the executive team at Cummings and Shaftley, B.A. from Yale and M.B. from Wharton—has forgotten the English language. Or at least as much of it as she needs to carry on this conversation. And that's Clarke's doing.

"Uh…the merger with…that is…" Lexa gives her a dark look, which she returns with a sunny smile. But that look does things to her, and it has all night. At this point, she's fairly certain that she's sopping and her underwear is ruined. That's partially why she persists in tormenting Lexa this way, even though she knows this is an important business event and she needs to be on her best behavior. She just can't resist the opportunity to bring out the dark, rough, _commanding_ side to her typically gentle and chivalrous girlfriend.

And there's the fourth part, the part she's hesitant to admit even to herself, although it makes her shiver in delicious anticipation. Part of her _likes_ the idea of being Lexa's trophy. Lexa's toy, Lexa's plaything, Lexa's _possession._ Clarke knows that despite the power Lexa wields in the boardroom, she would never seek to bring that dynamic into the bedroom. Her usual style is strewn with soft caresses and whispered endearments and pledges of devotion, and nine times out of ten, Clarke is grateful.

But tonight is number ten.

Partially to speed things along, and partially to save Lexa from floundering, Clarke slips back into her role for the evening. She bats her lashes, tightening her grip on Lexa's elbow ever so slightly and peering at her with a suitably adoring gaze. "Sweetie," she purrs, an endearment she hardly ever uses, but one that will hopefully catch Lexa's attention, "your drink is low. Should I get you a refill?"

It's practically an insult. Lexa's brows lift halfway up her forehead, and her throat bobs before she realizes the game plan. Clarke can see the moment it hits her, catches the subtle twitch at the corner of Lexa's lips. "If you're asking if _I_ can get _you_ a fresh drink, then yes," she says, her voice every bit as smooth as the scotch Clarke knows she's been indulging in. She turns back to the small group of men she's been talking with, beginning to make her apologies. "You'll have to excuse me, I..."

Clarke doesn't bother listening to the rest of Lexa's polite farewell to her boring, penguin-suited colleagues. She's already scanning the ballroom again, looking for a suitable place to sneak away to once they've made their escape. The room itself is fairly open, and the skirts on the tables aren't long enough for what she has in mind, but past the buffet is a more promising solution. A set of stairs leads up into what looks like darkness, and perhaps a little stolen privacy.

She gives a flirtatious wave as Lexa escorts her toward the bar, but she's already plotting the quickest route out of the room. The ache between her thighs is growing stronger at the feel of Lexa's strong forearm under her fingertips, and a shudder of anticipation races down her spine. She caresses the side of Lexa's arm deliberately through the sleeve of her suit jacket, enjoying the shallow hitch of breath the sneaky touch earns.

"So, what would you like?" Lexa asks, ever the chivalrous escort as they approach the bar on the other side of the room. "Sex On The Beach? Buttery Nipple?" Her eyes narrow mischievously. "Or maybe a Blow Job?"

Clarke laughs—genuinely this time, because Lexa's company makes her happy, and the thought of getting fucked by Lexa makes her even happier. "You know," she murmurs, leaning in close and tucking a loose strand of hair behind Lexa's ear as she whispers into it, "if you wanted me to suck you off, you could have just asked."

Lexa's eyes widen, but this time, there is a flash in them—a clear, obvious spike of desire in the vivid green irises. It's a look Clarke knows well, and one that never fails to undo her, especially when Lexa's hands are roaming over her body at the same time. Just the memories make the thin, clinging material of her dress feel more constricting than ever.

"Ah." Lexa's gaze tracks through the room, obviously searching for a way out, and while she's occupied, Clarke sneaks a quick glance down at her perfectly tailored pants. They hug Lexa's hips in the most appealing way possible and accentuate the long, slim line of her legs, but that's not what Clarke's most interested in. To her delight, the slight bulge at the front has started to make an appearance.

Lexa's leaning against the bar, tapping her fingers on the wood as the bartender finishes some hellishly complicated bit of mixology (because of course Lexa's work function hires bartenders who use terms like _mixology)_. Clarke takes the opportunity to press her side against Lexa's and, under the guise of—well, nothing, really—uses the cover of the bar's brass rail to snake her hand up Lexa's toned thigh and slowly trace the outline of the subtle swell. At her touch, it becomes a good deal less subtle.

Lexa's voice jumps an octave in the middle of ordering some kind of pedigreed scotch with a name like gargling mouthwash. She snaps her lips shut, but the damage has been done. After throwing back the rest of the drink in her glass, she slides it across the bar and slaps a twenty down next to it, before shooting Clarke a furious glare. Clarke returns it with a syrupy smile and hopes that her arousal won't start trickling down her legs before she can get Lexa alone, or at least into a reasonably dark corner. At this point, she's way more desperate than picky.

When the bartender returns with Lexa's drink, she leans over to order her own, something with an innuendo for a name, but her lover cuts her off. "I think you've had enough for this evening, don't you, sweetheart?" she says, in a voice like gravel under silk.

Clarke's torn between finding it incredibly insulting that Lexa thinks she can make that kind of decision for her, and finding the uncharacteristically controlling behavior incredibly sexy. Eventually, she decides on sexy—but Lexa doesn't need to know that. With a huff and an exaggerated pout, she pushes herself off the barstool and stalks away in the direction of the shadowy set of stairs she's been eyeing all evening, putting enough of a sway in her hips to make sure Lexa will most definitely be following.

She's not wrong, although it does take her girlfriend long enough to catch up that she's started to get worried Lexa hasn't been following the game as well as she'd thought. She's more than halfway up the stairs before she feels a hand on her elbow—long fingers, slim and dexterous and oh so very talented, she knows firsthand. Lexa takes her arm in a grip just shy of painful and marches her the rest of the way up the steps to a darkened, deserted landing, before spinning Clarke around to face her.

"I would ask you what the hell you think you're doing, but I think I already know," Lexa says, her voice a honeyed growl that makes a fresh wave of arousal spill into Clarke's already-ruined panties.

As much as she's ready to sink to her knees and suck Lexa off here and now, she knows the pace of this game. Yanking her elbow out of her girlfriend's grip, she crosses her arms, sticking out her lower lip. "I'm _bored._ "

"You can't just jerk me in the middle of a work function because you're _bored,_ Clarke," Lexa says, with that extra _click_ at the end of her name that never fails to make Clarke twitch.

"Oh, you liked it," Clarke sneers, gamely attempting to ignore the increasing throb between her legs. "I know you were just thinking about how good it would feel to let me pull your cock out and suck you off right in the middle of talking to one of your stuffed-shirt colleagues."

"Are you finished?" Lexa says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because I've got something much better for you to do with that dirty little mouth of yours."

"Here?" Clarke asks, not bothering to conceal the breathy, eager edge that has crept into her voice. Lexa doesn't talk to her like this often, and never outside of the bedroom, but oh god, when she does… Her eyes flick back down the stairs, making sure they're alone, then back to the front of Lexa's pants. The outline of Lexa's shaft is even more obvious than it was at the bar, and perhaps it's her imagination, but she thinks she can see the swell twitch as she continues to stare.

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, an exaggerated gesture as she pretends to consider her options. Of course, Lexa catches her looking. "It's here, or I take you home," she says, in a tone that clearly implies the second option won't end in rough sex.

Despite the mounting tension between them, tension she's been deliberately stoking all evening, Clarke can't help but feel a warm glow of affection at the offer. She knows that if she asks, despite all the teasing she's done and the slight dip in social status Lexa might have to manage for leaving the party early, her girlfriend will take her home and make sweet, gentle love to her without a second thought or any kind of guilt trip.

But sweet and gentle isn't what she wants. She wants to be here, on her knees on the staircase landing's scratchy red carpet, un-tucking Lexa's cock from those expensively tailored pants and tasting something a lot better than the third drink she never got to have at the bar. And so she does just that—but not before pressing her manicured fingertips to the center of Lexa's chest and pushing her gently towards the wall.

Either Lexa is too far gone to object to the slight show of initiative, or she's planning to take her pound of flesh for it later, because she doesn't bring it up. Instead, she shrugs out of her suit jacket, folds it neatly across the bannister, and then leans back against the wall as if it was her idea all along, waiting expectantly. She doesn't have to give the order. It's already hovering between them, unspoken, and when Clarke does drop to her knees, the small nod of approval Lexa gives makes her shiver with more delight than any words could provide.

With permission asked for and given, Clarke doesn't waste time. As much as she's enjoyed dragging this out, she's all too aware of the fact that they are in a public place. The party is still going on below them—she can still hear the faint sound of the string quartet filtering up the stairs—and it's only a matter of time before someone stumbles across them in search of a bathroom. It's a thought that excites her much more than it should, and she has to shake herself free of it before she's able to pop open Lexa's buttons and unzip her fly. The sound carries, and her clit throbs in answer, twitching in the sticky mess of fabric her panties have become.

By the time she manages to fish Lexa's cock out of her boxers—black silk, every bit as elegant as the suit they're hidden beneath—it's hard and ready in her hand. The veins running on either side of the shaft pound in her fist, and the head is broad and angry red, gleaming with fluid. She blows across it once, just to savor the slight groan of frustration and anticipation that rumbles in Lexa's throat, and is thrilled when she gets her name instead. "Clarke..."

It's a warning, and a promise, and it makes her shudder with desire. She presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tip, darting her tongue into the furrow at the middle, and leaving a bright, shiny red glossprint behind when her lips peel away. At this point, Clarke knows that she's badly testing her luck, but she doesn't care. She yearns to fold her mouth over the swollen head, to create a seal with her lips, to coax out as much of Lexa's tantalizing taste as she can before her girlfriend comes in her mouth, but Clarke knows the longer she can hold out, the more…explosive... it's likely to be when she finally gets her reward.

" _Clarke."_ This time, Lexa says her name in a low, no-nonsense growl, and when Clarke looks up, her eyes are dark with fury and promise. Grinning, she wraps her hand around the base of the straining shaft, and then dips her head to run her tongue all the way from the top of her fist to catch the shivering pearl of fluid clinging to the tip. Lexa's growl turns into a needy whine, and Clarke is treated to the exquisite sight of her usually self-controlled girlfriend with her head thrown back in ecstasy, every muscle in her body tense with pleasure that _Clarke_ has given her. It's a headrush and no mistake, but Clarke knows it's not nearly as satisfying as what's sure to come after.

She only has time to press one more hot, open-mouthed kiss to the tip before Lexa's eyes fix on her, making her squirm and squeeze her thighs together uncomfortably. And then Lexa's hand is in her hair, grasping firmly and drawing her head inexorably down. Clarke knows that plenty of force is present in Lexa's arms, toned from a rigorous workout routine of weights and pushups and pullups and a bajillion other exercises that make her tired just thinking about them—but watching Lexa cycle through them makes her want to go to bed for an entirely different purpose. Lexa doesn't use the muscle that she's built up, and her grip is not particularly forceful, but the power inherent in the gesture, the control, the _command_ , is enough to make Clarke gasp.

She toys with the idea of offering token resistance, but in the end, she wants this just as much as Lexa does, possibly even more. She parts her lips wider to accept the swollen head between them, and several inches of the shaft besides. She expects to be drawn further, maybe to the top of her fist where it's still closed around the base, but instead Lexa stops. When Clarke tries to take the initiative, to start engulfing more of her girlfriend's cock in her mouth, the firm hand in her hair keeps her in place. She looks up and removes her fist, confused, hoping for some indication of Lexa's intent, but all she can see is a darkly satisfied glint.

Lexa shifts back, withdrawing several inches from her mouth; that's Clarke's only hint as to what's coming before Lexa pushes forward again, filling her mouth with warm, throbbing cock until it hits the back of her throat. Clarke's eyes widen, and she just has time to think _Oh god_ before Lexa does it again, and again, and again. Her hips pick up a swift, selfish pace and her hand is like iron on Clarke's head, keeping her in place; she probably couldn't have moved had she wanted to. But she doesn't want to. This is even more than what she had been hoping would result from all her teasing. This is Lexa using her, selfishly fucking her mouth with no thought at all for her pleasure. Far from being upset, the thought makes her inner walls pulse greedily as she relaxes her throat to take more of the thick shaft.

Her efforts pay off. The extra inch of depth has Lexa quivering, and for a moment, her rhythm falters. Clarke holds her breath, gazing up into Lexa's blazing eyes as she waits for the inevitable. She lives for this moment, for the sharp twitch and stillness that always signal Lexa's release, for the beautiful, blissful look that crosses her face when it hits. But Lexa doesn't come. The fullness pounding along her shaft doesn't burst free. Instead, she pulls out, her hand still tangled in Clarke's hair to make sure she can't follow the motion.

As soon as her mouth is empty, Clarke whimpers in a mixture of surprise and disappointment. It takes her a moment to find her words, especially since her lips are puffy and well-used from Lexa's rough treatment, but as soon as they come back, she makes her displeasure known. "Why did you stop?" she asks, with the most pathetic look she can muster. Lexa's cock is as hard as ever, hovering only an inch away from her mouth, close enough that she could lean forward and...

"Enough." Lexa's grip allows no room for argument, and neither does her tone. "You don't get to decide when I come, Clarke."

Clarke starts to argue, to protest that she _does_ get to decide when Lexa comes nine times out of ten, but she already knows it's useless. Her pleas aren't going to work. Instead, she sulks, sitting back on her heels in a huff. "What the hell, Lexa? If you didn't want to come, why did you drag me up here?"

Lexa rolls her eyes, although if she looks closely, Clarke can see a hint of fondness hidden beneath her exasperated look. " _You_ dragged _me_ up here because _you_ were bored," Lexa reminds her. "And I'm going to come, just not in your mouth."

 _Oh._ That gets Clarke's attention. A shudder travels the length of her spine, and her inner walls clench, causing even more heat to pool between her legs. "Then where are you going to come?"

Lexa doesn't respond right away. She rolls up her sleeves slowly and deliberately, first one, and then the other. The gesture puts her tanned, toned forearms on display, and Clarke can't help but stare. If there's _anything_ that can draw her attention away from Lexa's cock for even a moment, it's Lexa's hands. They're slender but strong, and the sleek, expensive watch around her wrist somehow makes them even more appealing. A whine escapes from between her lips, but Lexa cuts her off with a look. "The answer to that question depends on you." She folds a fist around her shaft instead, stroking it at a slow, leisurely pace, coaxing more wetness to the tip. "Are you going to be good?"

She is. Oh god, if it means Lexa will _finally_ fuck her instead of taking a page out of her book and _teasing,_ she is. She's the picture of obedience, folding her hands in her lap and waiting for further instructions. Lexa keeps pumping her shaft, but Clarke only watches, unwilling to fail the test. She _needs_ Lexa inside her, even more than she needed Lexa in her mouth, and she isn't going to do anything to ruin it.

"I asked you a question," Lexa says, with an air of expectation. "Are you going to be good?"

"Yes," she blurts out, almost before Lexa finishes the sentence.

Lexa isn't impressed by her enthusiasm. "Yes what, Clarke?"

Clarke hesitates. This is a dynamic they've played with a few times in the past, mostly at her urging, but it isn't at all common for them. Lexa's ordinarily far too kind and considerate a lover to demand this kind of submission. And while Clarke is more than happy to let Lexa worship her body, exploring it with her talented hands and her torturous mouth before sinking inside of her with a sigh of relief, there are some times that she just wants to be fucked hard, taken, selfishly _used._ And while that's ordinarily not something Lexa would be into, she's _very_ much into pleasing Clarke.

Clarke looks up at Lexa again and widens her eyes, just a little bit. The other woman holds her gaze for a moment, clearly debating with herself, then nods minutely, just once. Clarke's mouth goes instantly dry and she has to lick her lips several times before she can speak.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," Lexa says, eyes glinting with satisfaction, and damn if that doesn't just make Clarke squirm harder, her clit twitching against her soaked underwear.

Lexa stalks forward, strides loose and predatory, looking like she's prepared to devour Clarke. The tips of two slim fingers under her chin are enough to draw Clarke to her feet. By now she's practically panting with need and she doesn't care that Lexa can tell. In fact, she's pretty sure she _likes_ that Lexa knows exactly what kind of effect that she has on Clarke. But Lexa's not the type to let her get off easy, and Clarke knows that she's in for a few more minutes of exquisite torture before she finds release.

Lexa steps in close, close enough that Clarke can smell the scents that, to her, are uniquely Lexa—fine Italian wool, Burberry Brit, and just the faintest tinge of arousal that's all for Clarke. That, and the hands that take a firm grip on her waist, and the warmth she can feel radiating from Lexa's body, are enough to make her shiver.

"Are you ready for me?" Lexa murmurs, her voice a low, dangerous purr. When Clarke fails to answer in time, her eyebrow quirks dangerously.

Clarke's pretty much forgotten words, but manages to gasp out "Yes," just before her girlfriend can pull away.

"You don't sound convinced," Lexa says, still in that sinfully silky tone. "I think I should check to make sure. I'm not planning on being gentle."

Clarke quakes, her inner walls pulsing at the thought of being taken by Lexa roughly, wildly… And then all thoughts are gone from her brain as one hand leaves her waist and starts traveling down, down to the scandalously high slit along her thigh. There's only a moment of hesitation before Lexa pushes beneath the dress, tracing along the subtle line of her underwear, the gentle scrape of her immaculately clipped nails against Clarke's sensitive skin making her quiver.

And then those miserably dexterous fingers have reached the apex of her legs and are palming her gently through her drenched panties. When Lexa realizes just how soaked Clarke is, she lets out a low, delighted chuckle. "You _have_ been thinking dirty thoughts all night, haven't you? But you told me you were good… Still, at least it means that you're nice and ready for me to give you a good, hard fucking. You'd like that, wouldn't you, slut?"

The harsh words, said in such a velvety tone, have Clarke's legs threatening to give out under her. She knows she must be bright red, but she can't bring herself to care, not when Lexa's fingers are tracing delicate patterns around her clit, above her underwear. She can't help it. She lets out a low whine and pushes her hips forward, begging for more friction, more pressure, _anything..._ but to her agony, Lexa withdraws her hand altogether.

"You told me you were going to be good," she said, her brow furrowed and her eyes dark.

"Yes. I am, I will—"

Lexa brushes her objections away as though they're nothing. "But here you are, thinking filthy thoughts so you're wet all night, sucking me off in a stairwell where anyone could see, and now you can't keep still and be patient long enough for me to get you off."

"No," Clarke gasps, clutching at Lexa's lapels like they're a lifeline. "No, please, I promise I'll be good, I promise—"

"I bet," Lexa continues, her voice and look taking on an element of portent, "that this is actually _arousing_ to you. The possibility that anyone could walk up here and see me fucking you…could see you bent over and begging for it. Isn't it?"

It is. It really, really is, and the fact that Lexa _knows_ it somehow makes the thought even more torturous. She pulses against the pads of Lexa's fingers, and even though she knows Lexa expects a response, she can't seem to find one. She has been reduced to high-pitched, wordless gasps, and her hips have taken on an involuntary rhythm, rocking forward in search of more contact without her permission. Lexa's touch is far too clever, too addictive, and she isn't sure how to breathe, let alone speak. One more stroke, one more circle, and she's sure she'll come even without Lexa's cock inside her.

"I asked you a question, babygirl." The wicked fingers rolling over her clit withdraw, and Clarke protests with needy, wordless sounds—which are about all she can manage. "Doesn't it turn you on to think about how someone could catch us? To think about how someone could walk up these stairs right now and see me with my hand up your dress?" Lexa leans forward, tucking aside a loose strand of hair that has fallen free of her updo and using it as an excuse to whisper right against her ear. "To think about how, in another minute, I'm going to be buried _all the way_ inside of you, and _anyone_ could see?"

The explicit promises, along with the loss of Lexa's fingers, are too much. Clarke shakes off her haze through sheer desperation, and finally comes up with an answer. "Yes." The edges of Lexa's teeth catch the lobe of her ear—just barely—and she understands the reprimand at once. "Yes, Daddy." She holds perfectly still, shivering, _praying_ that Lexa will finally take pity on her and give them both the release they've been building up to all evening.

To her immense relief, it's enough. Suddenly, she finds herself swept up in Lexa's arms, one hooked under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. She has no idea how Lexa is capable of carrying her—they're almost the same weight, and Lexa's had two and a half glasses of scotch at least, and her hard cock is still jutting out of her unfastened pants—but Clarke is more than willing to fling her arms around Lexa's neck and hold on for the ride. She isn't sure where they're going, but it doesn't matter. As long as it's to a place where Lexa can back up all her talk and bend her over a relatively flat surface, she doesn't care.

It doesn't take them long to reach the next floor, but Clarke busies herself anyway, scattering urgent kisses along Lexa's jaw and one side of her throat. By the time they arrive at the top of the stairs, she's left more than a few red lipstick smudges behind on Lexa's neck and shirt collar. She half-expects her girlfriend to make a quip about the dry cleaning bill, but instead, Lexa steers left, carrying her toward a set of open double doors. When Clarke sees where they lead, her heart thuds faster in her chest, and fresh trails of wetness smear over her already-sticky thighs. The doors don't open into a private room, but onto a shadowy balcony—a balcony that looks out right over the ballroom below.

"Fuck," Clarke mutters as Lexa sets her down, clutching her vest for support. She's still weak at the knees, and the thought of being taken _here,_ where _anyone_ could look up and see them, isn't helping.

"I'm getting to that," Lexa says. Her tone isn't as steady as usual, and beneath the rumble of desire, Clarke can hear an unspoken question. This is a big risk, even for them, and Clarke knows with absolute certainty that Lexa is doing this for her. It's strangely sweet, if she stops to think about it—but she doesn't want to think. She doesn't want to worry about the consequences. All she wants is to bend over and clutch the balcony railing so Lexa can ruck her dress up around her hips and finally, _finally_ sink inside her.

Clarke draws Lexa in for one last kiss, a tangle of tongues and fingers raking through hair that leaves them both panting. She wants Lexa with everything she is, and this is the most enthusiastic 'yes' she can give. And then Lexa's spinning her around, marching her the rest of the way toward the balcony. Clarke's head feels like it's spinning as well, but then one of Lexa's hands snakes its way into the sharp plunge of her neckline and grasps her breast, palming it roughly before giving the nipple a sharp pinch. She gasps, but the brief spark of pain serves to ground her, and she's able to take the last few steps toward the railing.

Lexa pushes her against the thick wooden bar and then follows, pressing her front against Clarke's back so that she can feel everything—the powerful muscles of her body, the slight, firm swell of her breasts…and the hard shaft of her cock rubbing against Clarke's backside. She feels a hand on the back of her neck, gently but firmly urging her to rest her elbows on it and lean over. Sucking in a deep breath, Clarke obeys.

She's never been more turned on or more nervous in her life. The two feelings blur together, serving to heighten her sensations to a nearly unbearable level. She closes her eyes as she bends over, responding to the subtle pressure of Lexa's hands skillfully directing her body. A thigh presses between her legs, making her shudder and choke back a whimper, but it's just Lexa moving to kick her feet further apart, widening her stance and opening her up. "You need to be quiet," Lexa murmurs against her ear, close enough that Clarke can feel the hot puffs of air when she speaks. They're coming a little bit quicker than usual, telling her that Lexa's in much the same state as she is—nervous, excited, and incredibly turned on.

"You don't want to make noise and have everyone look up and see you bent over the balcony with my cock in you," Lexa continues, before placing a hand on the small of her back and pressing down, prompting her to lift her hips. That brings her into contact with something firm and warm, and Clarke finds herself once again forcing back a moan. Long, powerful fingers take a firm grip on her ass and squeeze _hard_ —she guesses that Lexa had wanted to spank her for her disobedience, but had been worried that the sound would carry.

"Or maybe you do?" Lexa wonders, the other hand trailing along Clarke's quivering skin again before beginning to raise her dress over her thighs. "Maybe you secretly _want_ everyone down there to look up and see you. You _want_ them to see how desperate you are for me, that you'll do _anything_ to have my cock in you." Lexa ruts against her backside sharply, just once, and it makes her pulse, but she manages to keep herself from making a sound. She knows, in the small part of her mind not currently dazed with anticipation and need, that if she can't keep quiet they're not going to be able to do this—but right about now, she's convinced that if they stop she's going to explode.

Lexa's hand continues its searing path along her skin before she cupping Clarke's aching sex in her palm. "I think I'm right," she says, low voice tinged with smug triumph. "I think you _do_ want them to see. I think that's exactly what's making you so wet, making your nipples hard, making you shiver every time I even get close to touching you." This time Clarke has to bite down sharply on her bottom lip, because Lexa's fingers have traced a slow, cruel circle around her clit. "But it's not just that, is it?"

"No," she gasps, letting out every breath she's held back in that exhalation.

"No, it's not. I think that even more than wanting everyone to see how much pleasure I give you…" Clarke feels Lexa draw in a deep breath against her back, and she realizes with a jolt that Lexa's trembling too. But her shock disappears the moment she hears the other woman's next words, whispered harsh and deadly directly into her ear: "I think you want them to know who you belong to."

Clarke's eyes fly open and her hips give an involuntary jolt back, pressing her soaked slit against the warm, throbbing head of Lexa's cock. Lexa grunts, clearly struggling to maintain control, but masters herself. "Who is it, babygirl?" she says, her voice roughened with need, and Clarke's eyes shut again in an effort to keep from whimpering.

She knows the answer. She knows it, but she can't quite get the words out. Slim fingers take hold of her underwear and draw it aside, and all of a sudden the hard, pulsing head of Lexa's cock is pressed against her opening. She feels like she can't breathe. Her nails dig into the wood of the railing and her entire body is trembling with need, but she just can't open her mouth—she's focusing so hard on not moaning. Until, that is, Lexa's growl burns in her ear: "Who do you belong to?" And then it's like the floodgates have opened.

"You," she chokes out, "it's you, Daddy, please, _please_ just _fuck_ me—"

This time, Lexa doesn't drag it out. Her hips jerk forward, and Clarke bites down hard on her bottom lip to stifle a scream as Lexa's shaft slams inside of her. She's gone from painfully empty to blissfully full in just one stroke, and even though she's more than wet enough to take every inch of Lexa's cock, it's enough to send her reeling. Her muscles clutch down, fluttering wildly because _oh god Lexa is in her at last_ , and it feels even better than she imagined.

When Lexa draws back again, what little control Clarke has left continues to crumble. She whimpers despite her best efforts, face burning with embarrassment. Even though she's incredibly aroused by the fact that Lexa's coworkers are only a floor below, she doesn't actually want them to hear—for Lexa's sake more than hers—and she isn't at all confident in her ability to stay silent. " _Lexa_ ," she hisses, bucking hard in her lover's grip, unsure whether she's trying to rock backward or forward, "I—you need to... slow, or I'll..."

Apparently, Lexa isn't interested in slow, because one of her hands leaves Clarke's hip to cup over her mouth instead. Two fingers pry past her lips, sliding between her teeth, and the nails of Lexa's other hand rake across the swell of her ass, adding a sweet tinge of pain and possessiveness to the act. "Better?"

Clarke can only moan. Thankfully, the sound is muffled, and some of the nervous churning in her stomach melts back into desire. With Lexa's hand stifling her cries, it's much less likely that they will attract unwanted attention. She shifts backwards, a signal that she's ready to continue, and it's all the permission she needs to give. Lexa begins moving, driving into her again, and her entire world spins completely out of control.

One thrust in, she's clawing at the railing, desperate to keep her grip. On the second, she screams into Lexa's hand, not even trying to stay quiet any longer. On the third, her inner muscles ripple, throbbing on the edge of an orgasm that threatens to blot out the bright lights of the ballroom and send her floating along with the faint sound of the string quartet. After that, she loses count. All she can do is surrender to the deep, rough strokes and hope she won't pass out. Blackness is already creeping in around the edges of her eyes, shot through with flashes of color, and they've only just started.

Her only saving grace is that Lexa seems just as overwhelmed as she is. The snap of her hips is forceful, instinctive, and Clarke trembles with the thought that Lexa—her gentle, generous, selfless girlfriend—has finally given into selfishness. Not that it matters. Lexa always has the power to undo her, whether she's trying or not. The head of her cock is already dragging against the _perfect_ spot, and every time she bottoms out, Clarke feels an answering twitch in her clit. It's perfect, everything she's ever wanted, and she can't possibly get enough.

"Oh... god... Clarke—" Lexa mutters into the curve of her neck, grunting out each word, clicking on the 'k' of her name. Her speech is as harsh and rhythmic as her thrusts, matching the pace exactly, and much more beautiful than the music coming from down below. "You're so... fucking... _tight_..." The unrestrained need in Lexa's voice sends sharp little jolts along Clarke's inner walls, and soon, she's sucking desperately on Lexa's fingers to keep from shouting along with each one. "Is it because... you're... about to... come... around my cock? In front of all these people?"

She is. Fuck, she is, and she's afraid that when she does, she'll shatter into a million pieces. That, or bite through Lexa's hand. Somewhere along the way, she's gone from striving toward her orgasm to fighting it off, and she's slightly terrified of what will happen when it finally overtakes her. Her eyes begin to water, and she whines with a mixture of desire and confusion as Lexa's fingers wind tighter around her hip. She _needs_ to come, but she doesn't want to, because it means she might break, and because it means that Lexa's cock—so thick inside her, splitting her apart, strained and throbbing—might stop thrusting.

The pace of Lexa's hips falters, and Clarke moans—she _can't,_ she's not ready, this can't be the end… But she has no words to voice her desperation. Except Lexa—her kind, brilliant, perceptive girlfriend—somehow seems to intuit what's wrong. The voice that had been harshly growling in her ear goes smooth, comforting, but no less commanding. "It's all right, you're all right, I've got you…" She continues murmuring a constant stream of reassurances, and gradually Clarke begins to relax, to accept her thrusts smoother and deeper.

But while Clarke has regained some of her control, apparently Lexa's losing it. Her strokes are growing rougher, more wild, and her cock is twitching furiously within Clarke's tight channel. Knowing Lexa can't see her, Clarke grins around the fingers stuffed into her mouth. _This will be fun…_ She begins pushing her hips back to receive every thrust, squeezing her inner walls around Lexa's shaft. The reaction is instantaneous.

" _Clarke!"_

"Shh," she whispers sweetly, letting Lexa's fingers fall out. "We don't want anyone to hear, not before you come. Please, Daddy, _Lexa,_ please come inside me—"

"I'm going to," Lexa growls, "gonna fill you up, make you take...everything…"

Clarke finds herself responding strongly to the words, even despite her newfound resolve. _"Yes,"_ she moans, as loudly as she dares, "give it to me, _please,_ I need it—need you—"

"Fuck!" Lexa's hips give a final stutter and then she's spilling her release into Clarke, muffling her groans by biting down hard on Clarke's exposed shoulder. The slight pain, coupled with the hot jets of come pouring into her deepest places, throws Clarke over the edge as well, but unlike Lexa, she doesn't have anything to bite down on. She's left to scream silently as her inner walls ripple greedily around the thick shaft, squeezing out every last drop that she can get.

Just when she thinks she can't stand it any longer, that she's going to have to give voice to the pleasure coursing through her body, her orgasm begins to taper off. She focuses on riding out the aftershocks by clenching deliberately around Lexa's cock, garnering her a few more weak pulses. She savors the last couple of twitches, letting her inner walls pull Lexa's release even deeper inside.

Lexa slumps against her back, a panting, shivering, sweaty mess, and Clarke can't help but grin to herself. Minutes ago, Lexa had been pumping into her furiously, growling filthy things into her ear and demanding her obedience. And now… Clarke thinks about torturing Lexa as she'd been doing only moments ago, tormenting her with teasing murmurs about how she needs to get ahold of herself, they don't want anyone coming up here and seeing the smooth, suave, collected Lexa Woods struggling to catch her breath while hilted deep in her girlfriend, do they?

But ultimately, she decides to be kind. Gently shifting Lexa backwards with her hips, she has to bite back a disappointed whimper as Lexa's cock slips out of her. But that means that she can turn in the other woman's arms and accept her, sighing gratefully, into her own embrace. "Shh," she whispers, running her fingers through Lexa's wild mane of hair and smoothing out the wrinkles on her back. Lexa tucks her face directly into Clarke's neck, and she can feel the warm puffs of air as she breathes deeply.

A murmur and the movement of lips are all that alert her to the fact that Lexa's trying to say something. She lets out a low chuckle. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Lexa still won't lift her head, but she speaks a little louder: "Said you smell good."

"I smell like sex," Clarke accuses, but with laughter in her voice, "and I smell like _you."_

"Mmhmm. Good."

Clarke slaps her shoulder in a very gentle rebuke, but smooths it over moments later to let her know she's not mad.

Lexa's head lifts then, her eyes bright with concern. "Are you all right?" she says. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I know I was being rougher than we usually are when—"

"I'm fine _,_ " Clarke insists with a fond roll of her eyes, cutting Lexa off before she can worry too much. She and Lexa have this conversation almost every time their sex veers even slightly from their normal routine, and she's grown used to it. Coming from anyone else, the constant need for reassurance might have irritated her, but with Lexa— _her_ Lexa—she's always willing to offer comfort, and a healthy amount of praise as well. "In fact, I'm wonderful. _You're_ wonderful... _Daddy_."

Lexa heaves a sigh of relief, but the points of her cheeks still have a noticeable flush, almost as bright as the lipstick stains further down. "Oh god, pleasedon't call me that now that we're done."

Clarke merely laughs. "You seemed to be enjoying it a lot earlier," she points out, unable to resist poking at a weak spot.

"For _you,"_ Lexa insists. "But some of the things I was saying... the things I called you..." She hides her face again, cringing in what Clarke assumes is embarrassment. "Just don't look at me for a year, please."

Clarke merely smiles and strokes soothing circles in the middle of Lexa's back. In all honesty, she suspects Lexa's colleagues would be far more surprised by this sight than the view they would have been treated to a few minutes earlier. The fact that the cutthroat Lexa Woods can be convinced to power top once in a while wouldn't raise any eyebrows, but the awkward, squirming, mildly regretful mess she becomes when the scene is over is much more unusual—and much more endearing.

"I'm sorry, I was only kidding. Are you all right?" she asks, repeating Lexa's earlier question. "You were really committed this time."

Lexa moans against her neck, but the sound isn't entirely unhappy. "Must be your dress. It brought out my wild side."

Clarke laughs under her breath. Even without looking, she can tell that it's going to need a thorough washing before she can wear it again, but she doesn't mind. It's already served its purpose. "Your suit started it, Miss Woods. That, and the way you talk when you're around the people you work with..." Despite her exhaustion, her body gives a slight shudder as she remembers Lexa's commanding posture, the way her presence always fills a room.

"That isn't me," Lexa insists, a little sulkily. She raises her eyes, and the tenderness in them makes Clarke's heart clench. "At least, that's not how I am with you."

Clarke's smile turns mischievous. It isn't Lexa, at least not how she is at home. Her Lexa cries at movies and baby talks to their pets and always gushes over her paintings. "I know. That's why it's so hot." Lexa huffs a little, and Clarke hurries to continue soothing her. "No, seriously, I'm so lucky. I get the best of both worlds—you're cute and sweet when you're Lexa, and you're _so_ sexy when you're Miss Woods. I'd take either of you to bed any time."

"Is that an offer?" Lexa asks, with unconcealed hope.

"Maybe." Clarke flutters her lashes, rocking her hips forward just enough to put pressure against Lexa's softening shaft. It doesn't remain soft for long, and soon, it's swelling against her thigh again. "Are you sure? I was kind of a brat earlier."

"Only a little." Lexa plants a soft kiss on the side of her neck. "You made up for it."

"I did, didn't I?" Gently, Clarke untangles herself from Lexa's arms, taking stock of their appearances. There's no way they'll be able to go back down and rejoin the party in their current state, clothes rumpled and hanging out of place, smelling like sex and each other. She's sure her mascara's smeared, and Lexa's wearing more of her lipstick than she is.

"Guess we're going home," she decides as she tucks Lexa's cock back into her pants and does up the zipper. It's much easier to do when she isn't mind-numbingly horny, although the embers of desire within her flare to life again when she cups the considerable bulge in her palm. Lexa seems to be up for another round, and though she's pleasantly sore, she knows she'll be ready in a minute—perhaps in the back seat of the Benz before they head home. She's always been grateful for the fact that Lexa has tinted windows.

"Home sounds good. And tomorrow, we're staying in. You can paint..."

Clarke nods, even though she already knows she won't be doing much painting. Lexa's body is a much more interesting canvas to experiment on when it's available to her. "Come on," she murmurs, linking their arms together. "If you thought this dress was nice, wait until you see it on your bedroom floor."


End file.
